


Untitled Bill Denbrough Screenplay #1

by stranger_thanfiction



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Actor!Richie, Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Celebrity AU, Multi, Slow Burn, bill and mike are a writer-director duo, eddie is a musician, famous au, it's showbiz baby, more ships to follow, numerous outside references, producer!ben, social media influence, stan is the agent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2020-09-19 05:55:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20326210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stranger_thanfiction/pseuds/stranger_thanfiction
Summary: “Staniel, you know I said only passion projects from here on out.”“Well, I thought you’d say that,” Stan replied, and Richie could definitely hear the smile coming through the phone, “which is why I need to repeat to you the most important piece of the puzzle. Eddie Kapsbrak is attached to the project.”(formerly titled “Fame" and "Fame and Fortune, Lights, Camera, Action, Fashion, too".)The celebrity AU that no one asked for, where Richie and Eddie make a movie.





	1. Green Is A Way of Life

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome everyone! We're completely ignoring the fact that I never finished my ST 30 Challenge (sorry @hey-dingus) to bring you this AU!  
I'm a slut for fame/social media AU stories, and I've read them all in all my fandoms, so I figured it's time to write one. I'll be updating the tags as it goes, but it's going to be multi ship. I don't wanna spoil anything, but like...one of the ships in the tag is gonna change.  
(We love planning stories and not just half-assing it!)  
11/21/19: fun thing, reread your works kids, and you'll realize that your ramblings actually made NO FUCKING SENSE and it's either scrap the idea or rework it...welcome back to rework #3, hopefully the last of it's kind. 
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are better writing fuel than coffee, and you can always visit my cluster of a tumblr @modernfeminismtalking. Enjoy!

Richie can’t believe he’s gotten this far, considering he started this week out with -$5.00 in his bank account, three shirts, and his same pair of dirty chucks that he’s worn for the past four years. 

(Okay, so maybe he’s a multi-millionaire with like..four houses, and a private security team, and his best friend on his payroll--because he has a payroll--but Richie really never sees a dime of that money.)

(It’s probably for the best.)

Stan called him late last night, traces of enthusiasm dripping into his voice as he explained what exactly this producer was looking for. 

Well, as much as his ever sarcastic, ever deadpan best friend could express excitement. 

Stanley Uris was the polar opposite of Richie, and he likes to believe that this is the only reason they have continued to be friends for so long. 

( _ It’s because opposites attract, Stanny, _ he would sigh dramatically, before planting a loud smack on his cheek. 

Stan would only roll his eyes and flush lightly.

_ Shut the fuck up, Richard, not for all the money in the world. _ )

Maybe Richie should’ve been listening to the other man, but it was late, and he just finished his joint, so sue him. 

“They want someone with name recognition, Dick, and you’ve got it_,_” the blond was explaining on the phone, “and all you really need to do is be yourself.”

“An opportunity like this isn’t something you just throw away, Trashmouth.”

The fact that Stanley just referred to him as ‘Trashmouth’ says much more about Richie than any description should give. 

Richie thinks he can hear the shaking of the man’s curls through the phone. Either that, or the joint was laced with something.

“It’s Ben, Richie, he’s been working with William Denbrough-”

Richie can’t help but interject. 

“The writer of that shitty teen horror series?”

Now he can definitely hear Stan’s eyes roll. 

“Okay, it’s not shitty, Richie, the ending sucked, sure, but-” 

“My point.”

Stan sighed. 

“A whiter than sour cream, buck-toothed, bespeckled, beanpole smartass kinda seems like a typecast,” Richie responded, flitting through the numerous scripts Ben had left on the coffee table in a haste to leave with Bev. 

“For Richie Tozier the human, sure, but for the actor? It’s a call back to your Disney days, a good way to guarantee that both your new and old fans will buy tickets.”

Richie really can’t deny that.

At the ripe age of seven, he got his big break as a small loudmouthed child on your cookie cutter Disney Channel sitcom, the annoying younger brother to the Lizzie McGuire-esque sister. 

Richard Tozier was the little brother no teenage girl wanted, and ended up playing basically that role in every guest appearance, advertisement, DCOM, and anything else the executives wanted his brand on. 

His contract with Disney basically disintegrated when his voice dropped and his limbs became long and gangly. Instead of Buster, Richie began to resemble the squeaky voiced teen from  _ The Simpsons, _ and Disney only wants cute actors on their programming. 

And, you know, straight actors. 

Luckily, Richie had made enough money by this time to step out of the limelight for a hot second, enough to finish high school and the first couple of semesters of college before he realized acting was it for him. 

When you’re a Disney alum and you haven’t gone on any kind of benders, it’s both easy and hard to find acting jobs. 

Casting directors know you either by your face or your name, but if they associate you with squeaky clean Disney and no misdemeanors, they’ll think you don’t have the range to play anything serious. 

And sure, Richie in personality is more like Buster than he would ever care to admit, but he’s got the chops to play any part.

The one SAG, two Oscars, and one primetime Emmy wink at him from their display case, further proving his point.

“Staniel, you know I said only passion projects from here on out.”

And even though Richie loves acting, and has only benefited from getting out in front of people, he’s tired. 

He’s pushing thirty, and it’s been almost two decades in the spotlight, so he thinks he’s entitled to be a little fucking exhausted at this point. 

“Well, I thought you’d say that,” Stan replied, “which is why I need to repeat to you the most important piece of the puzzle. Eddie K is attached to the project.”

Richie thinks that he looked like a fish out of water, mouth gaping up and down as his brain tried to catch up to the fact that  _ Eddie fucking K _ is signed on to this movie. 

Eddie Kapsbrak, musician and song-writer, is Richie’s guilty watching pleasure. He is the most perfect thing Richie’s ever seen, and he once met the Hadid sisters at the Met Gala. 

Richie and Eddie relatively run in the same circles, and Richie even saw him once at the SAG Awards, when he was William Denbrough’s date. 

Richie won, he can’t even remember what for, but all he remembers is watching Eddie’s shoulders move in the dark blue fitted suit he wore.

He’s fantastic, and cute, and active with his fans. He has a reputation of charitableness and kindness and honesty; Richie may combust if he actually gets to work with him. 

He also takes no shit, which Richie can get behind. 

_ (So then this fucker touched me. It wasn’t even like we were in a club, I was in Starbucks when he grabbed my face and called me cute. I didn’t know him, like I’ve literally never seen him before and I did the only thing I could think of--I Miss Congeniality-ed him and ran out, drink forgotten. _

_ And it was five dollars! _

Richie will never forget the Instagram Live Eddie put out in response to the incident. 

A childhood filled with adults brazenly treating him like property makes Richie sympathize.)

“Rich?” Stan’s voice called from the phone forgotten in his hand, “did you drop your phone again?”

He shook his head out of his stupor. 

“Make it happen, Stan, this is officially my new passion project,” he said dazedly, before promptly hanging up the phone. 

Richie knows it was mean, and he can apologize tomorrow morning with coffee and bagels, but right now he needs to sleep, because he’s going to be spending some time with Eddie fucking K, which is actually insane. 

What the fuck, Eddie Kapsbrak. 


	2. Be Careful What You Wish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jokes on her, he muses, looking over his shoulder into his brightly lit living room, I think I’m doing just fine. 
> 
> Speaking of doing fine, he should probably let his followers know that so he can start building hype for the movie. 
> 
> Social media blackouts can be beneficial; Eddie needed a break, which really wasn’t a break so much as a new project, but now it’s time to get back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Life, as always, is super hectic, but I hope you enjoy this chapter!  
As always, comments and kudos are better writing fuel than coffee, and you can always come see my shitposting on my tumblr @modernfeminismtalking. Enjoy!

“What the fuck, William?!”

_ I’m a top-notch bitch, need some top-notch dick, smooth like a G5 when you’re landin’ it. _

“Bill, for the love of all that is holy, please shut your goddamn phone off!” Eddie screeches from his bedroom, the sound of the music pulling Eddie from his dream. 

Mercifully, “Twerk” is abruptly cut off before the hook, but Eddie is unfortunately awake. 

_ It was a nice dream, thank you so much, William,  _ he thinks as he drags himself out of his bed and down into the kitchen. 

He steps around Bill and Mike making out on the edge of the table to reach the sweet, sweet coffee maker already brewing Eddie’s giant mug.

“If you get any fluids on my dining table, you’re buying me a new one,” he mutters grumpily. 

Bill breaks away from Mike to roll his eyes at Eddie. 

“You bleached this one and it was fine.”

“We all were tasting bleach for a week, William,” he bites back before taking a deep swig of the liquid nirvana. 

Bill makes a face at his cup and goes back to kissing Mike, and the conversation ends as Eddie downs the rest of it and moves to make another.

Eddie’s brand is literally to be peppy and cheerful, which can’t happen unless he downs an unhealthy amount of caffeine first. 

He steps out of his and Bill’s apartment to look out at the city. It’s not exactly early,  _ 9:00  _ his watch reads, but it’s not yet rush hour, so Brooklyn looks as insane as ever. 

Some days, Eddie misses Maine just a little bit, but then he remembers how hard both he and Bill have worked to live in luxury, and ignores the gnawing guilt he feels for leaving his mother. 

“You’ll be back, Eddie Bear!” she cried as he huffed his bags into Bill’s beat up station wagon, “a boy can’t survive without his mother! You can’t survive without me!” 

_ Jokes on her, _ he muses, looking over his shoulder into his brightly lit living room,  _ I think I’m doing just fine.  _

Speaking of doing fine, he should probably let his followers know that so he can start building hype for the movie. 

Social media blackouts can be beneficial; Eddie needed a break, which really wasn’t a break so much as a new project. 

They don’t know that though, and speculation has been running rampant. The newest theory, according to Bill, is that he’s mysteriously eloped and moved to Poland. 

Which would require a husband to do that with, and the closest he is to that is ignoring his roomates making out during movie night. 

Eddie heads into his bedroom and tidies from last night’s sprawl into bed. Bill and Mike insisted that he go out with them to celebrate the movie’s  _ official  _ greenlight, and while he wasn’t wasted, he did jump into bright blue sheets with a least a cup of glitter on his entire body. 

Fighting the itching under his skin because he was  _ dirty  _ and the bed was now  _ ruined _ and the urge to bleach the entire room was getting stronger by the minute, Eddie took a deep breath and simply changed his sheets. 

He moved his dirty clothes to the hamper in the corner, out of view, and took stock of his appearance in the mirror. 

Eddie knows he needs to put some sort of content out soon, that his following base has gotten irate with Eddie’s lack of anything recently, but the movie has consumed his every waking moment since Bill brought up the concept when Eddie was elbow deep in his last album. 

_ “Wh-wuh-what if I could make it happen, Eddie?” _

_ The smaller man looked up at Bill from his notebook, an overexhausted look on his face.  _

_ “A gay love story set in the backdrop of the 80s?” Eddie snorted, his glasses pushing up closer to his nose. _

_ “You’ve got a better chance of producing a biopic on RuPaul.” _

_ Bill looks thoughtful for a moment before shaking himself out of it.  _

_ “N-nuh-netflix would probably greenlight i-i-it,” he mutters, “b-b--buh-but, what if I could make this happen? It’s 2017, I mean, the world’s probably only going to get better from here? It’s been such a sh-sh-shuh-shitty year, w-wuh-we need a love story.” _

_ “It would be the 1980s for two homosexual men, Bill, so there would have to be so much tension that it would take away from the story,” Eddie countered, head once again face down on his notebook.  _

_ “Eddie, I’ve been n-nuh-nominated for a Pulitzer, I think I can p-p-pull off a boppy love story with a sad background,” Bill insists, and crosses his arms, “they did it with Hairspray.” _

_ “Bill, the leads in Hairspray are white.” _

_ “Still! Eddie this could be h-huh-huge!” _

_ Eddie, who at this point in time is about to brain himself with his lucky writing pencil, throws his hands up in defeat.  _

_ “I mean, do what you want, but it’s not going to be easy.” _

_ Bill narrows his eyes behind his readers.  _

_ “But you’ll help me?” _

_ Eddie sighs and looks up from the song he has in front of him, currently a bullshit story about childhood love.  _

_ “If my album ever actually finishes, then sure, Bill, you can use my songs.” _

It’s been a year since then, and six months since the short was sent out into the world. Surprisingly to Eddie, and literally no one else, it was received well enough that Bill was not the only one who wanted to use his songs for film scores. 

The royalties may actually get them enough to permanently move to LA like they need to for the film. 

Mike and Bill, occasionally accompanied by Eddie, had been splitting their last year between LA and Brooklyn, and they all decided that if the movie actually happens, they all need to relocate.

The jetlag was the worst of it, and it took its toll on Eddie.

The dusting of freckles he has across his nose and cheekbones is currently hidden by deep, dark bags, and his forehead is beginning to form the pesky blackheads he spent meticulous time and incredible money to make go away. 

All in all, not the best for someone who needs to start making public outings again. 

Old habits die hard, he muses, checking his appearance in the large vanity mirror behind the camera. 

He can’t exactly give any details of anything, but he can pop his head back into the Internet so everyone knows he’s not dead.

No one ever said it had to make sense, so Eddie posted a picture of his forehead. 

_ Coming soon _ , the caption read, and he shut his phone off. 

He’s fucking trending. 

He spent the day with Mike and Bill, going over preliminary details, and turns his phone on hours later to it overloading with notifications and dying. 

What the fuck?

He has five hundred thousand followers on twitter, and yet he’s trending.

[Eddie-k-is-my-bae: can u believe that we’ve finally got some fucking food]

[eddiekfan: ajdceveoasswef I cannot believe this I’m feelin god in this Chili’s tonight]

[kapsbreakmyback: ok but eddie’s new project is something big what if our boi is going to bway?!?]

Eddie snorts at that one. Fifteen year old Eddie would have killed at the chance to do Broadway, and maybe someday, but that’s so much energy that he doesn’t have right now. 

[eddie-is-ok ✓ : @kapsbreakmyback sadly, that’s not it. You’re getting warmer though ;) ]

There’s some serious buzz happening, with some relatively famous people in his mentions, too. 

[connorfranta ✓: Eddie just sent a cryptic message and my brand is feeling attacked]

[billieeilish ✓: @eddie-is-ok i cannot wait, what the fuck]

In between a Brother Nature video, and a video of a cat singing “Mr. Sandman,” a tweet from Richard Tozier catches Eddie’s eye, and it’s not about Eddie. 

[richard-t ✓: Note to self: apology coffee only works if you can get the coffee there w/o dumping it down the front of yourself when you walk thru the door. #uhwhoops ]

Eddie rolls his eyes and laughs, favoriting the tweet and moving on. Richard Tozier may be an award winning serious actor, but Eddie can’t separate him from Buster from Disney Channel. 

(and Eddie thinks he gets that alot. Even so, Buster was childhood Eddie’s gay epiphany, and when Richard tweets like that, Eddie will deny that his heart jumps.)

He keeps scrolling, jumping between his multiple social media pages. Everyone seems a bit excited for his announcement, which makes him excited in return. After a good half hour of getting his instant gratification for the day, Eddie hears the door to the overlook slide open.

“So, are you going to stand like the dramatic lead from one of my books, or are we gonna talk about the screenplay?” Bill asks, hands in his pajama pockets and hair mussed.

“Bill, your TV show sucked, and the leads were overdramatic.” he responds, but doesn’t move, further proving Bill’s point.

Bill sticks his tongue out at him in response, lips red and cheeks flushed. It doesn’t take rocket science to figure out what he was doing before. 

There was a time that Eddie would be jealous of anyone else getting Bill’s attention, but now Eddie was more nauseated than anything. 

“Just waiting for you and Mike to breathe,” Eddie grins, and pushes back off the bannister he was leaning on to head inside. 

Mike is still there, this time parked at the table with Bill’s Macbook in front of him and his research spread across his corner of the table.

“Remind me why I decided to help you with this again?” he mumbles, pen in his mouth and eyes flitting across the screen. 

“Because Bill’s your sugar daddy?” Eddie comments, and Bill rolls his eyes and kisses Mike on the cheek. 

“B-b-because you’ve got an e-eh-editor’s eye and n-ne-neither Eddie or I can edit words, and copy editors are expensive?” Bill throws in, parking himself down next to the director.

Bill is a BAFTA winning, Pulitzer nominated writer for both novels and his screenplays--there is no shortage of copy editors willing to sacrifice their first child to edit for Bill Denbrough.

Eddie knows that Bill likes to watch Mike work, and he fights the nausea as he sits.

Eddie rolls his eyes and places his phone face down on the table. He grabs his notebook and copy of the script, and tucks in for the long night they have planned. 

“Mike you’re the director of what Entertainment Tonight is calling Bill Denbrough’s riskiest story yet.” 

Mike shakes his head. “It’s literally just a gay love story set in the 80s.  _ Clownchasers  _ was risky, but this? We’re leaning into the nostalgia wave so hard, it’s going to do half of the work for us.”

Bill snorts indingnatly. “Why the fuck does everyone have a problem with Clownchasers? It’s not that bad.”

Mike and Eddie ignore him.

It was that bad. 

“Don’t forget the underlying issue of the AIDs epidemic, and of course, the fuck Reagan subtext, Mike, that’s the most important part.”

Mike grins and nods, turning back to the screen.

“I’m not even reading edits anymore--the next edits will be when we finally cast everyone,” he throws Eddie a pointed look, “assuming you’re still not interested in auditioning?”

Eddie shakes his head. 

“I want my music to get out there, Mike, playing a role would be too much.”

Mike just hums, having had this disagreement with Eddie before, and turns to Bill.

“By the way, Ben gave us a call last night, I just listened to the voicemail this morning. He’s already got someone in mind to play one of the leads.”

Bill and Eddie throw each other a look. It’s been less than a day into pre-production, and the producer is already throwing his weight around. Great. 

“H-huh-who’d he have in m-muh-mind?”

Mike looks at him, a smile on his face.

“Richard Tozier.”

  
  



	3. Because You Might Get What You Like

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What’s the movie about, Dick?”
> 
> “It’s about the seventies-”
> 
> “80s.”
> 
> “And it’s a comedy-”
> 
> “Well, romantic comedy.”
> 
> “About a summer roadtrip.”
> 
> Stan shakes his head.
> 
> “You managed to be wrong on each point. Sometimes, you impress me, Trashmouth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome back! College starts Monday, and instead of preparing, I wrote this :). I don't know what to expect, and I don't know how often this will be updated, but I'm excited about my ideas for the story.  
I post updates, rants, and general shitposts on my tumblr @modernfeminismtalking. I'm also a coffee addict, but comments and kudos help me write better than coffee does. Please enjoy!

Richard Tozier was probably the dumbest fucker on this planet, at least according to one Stanley Uris, who was currently ranting at the actor as he handed him a towel to clean the front of his shirt and pants. 

“Honestly, who the fuck trips on hardwood? You’re fucking lucky these floors aren’t carpeted,” he huffs, starting the coffee maker.

Richie just shrugs and continues to pat (“do not rub, Dickhead!” “ah, so you’re more into tugging, Uris, you dog.” “Just clean your fucking pants, Richie.”) in an attempt to get the stain out. 

After five minutes of patting, he gives up, and pulls out his phone to check Twitter.

He nearly chokes at the top notification on his feed. 

[ eddie-is-ok and 2.4k others liked

_ Note to self: apology coffee only works if you can get the coffee there w/o dumping it down the front of yourself when you walk thru the door. #uhwhoops ] _

Eddie Kapbrak liked his dumbass tweet about spilling coffee all over himself. 

Holy shit. 

“Holy shit, Stan,” he breathes when the other man sits down, “look!”

Richie shoves the phone in Stan’s face, who looks at it for a second before glancing back up to Richie, unimpressed. 

“So, he liked your tweet. So did 2,400 other people, and it’s been five minutes since you posted. New record?”

Richie gasps and begins gesticulating like a sixties star, somehow capturing the mannerisms of a starlet. 

“Why, Stanley, he’s just the best darn thing since sliced bread!”

Stan rolls his eyes. 

“Okay, Richie, be serious, what’s so special about this guy that you’re ready to jump headfirst into a project for. I know you like his music, but I thought we were doing passion projects.”

“This is a passion project!” Richie responds, and Stanley raises his brow in response.

“What’s the movie about, Dick?”

“It’s about the seventies-”

“80s.”

“And it’s a comedy-”

“Romantic drama with some comedy, sure.”

“About a summer roadtrip.”

Stan shakes his head.

“You managed to be wrong on each point. Sometimes, you impress me, Trashmouth.”

Richie mock bows with his hand. 

“I aim to please. But also, I should be a writer, because that would be an awesome film.”

“Sure, Rich, whatever. Do you actually want to know what the movie is about?”

“It’s a porno, right?” the actor asks, smiling cheekily at his agent. 

Stanley looks up at the sky, and prays that HaShem gives him the strength to not murder Richie right here on this couch. 

“Well, actually,” he begins bluntly, “it’s a gay love story set to the background of the AIDs epidemic in the 1980s.”

Richie’s face drops. 

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah, no shit, Trashmouth.”

His face scrunches up, glasses down around his nose. 

“So, why do they want me to play an asshole?”

Stan sighs, and picks up the notes Ben emailed him.

“I don’t know, really, other than the fact that the chemistry between the two leads needs to be organic enough to sell it. Ben was saying Bill wants the relationship to be something real.”

“And to be real I have to be the annoyingest version of myself?”

Stan snorts. “Apparently.”

“So, when’s my audition?”

“Soon, I don’t even know when, it really all depends on how quickly casting goes.”

“When can I meet Eddie?”

Stan snorts. 

“And, we’ve come full circle.”

“You should know by now, Staniel, the only straight thing about me is that I’m not,” he smiles cheekily.

Even so, Stan can see the rosy color on the back of Richie’s neck. 

Stan knows he’s deflecting, but he’ll bite. For now. 

“I’ll get in touch with Ben. Wanna watch a movie?” he asks, and the subject is dropped. 

Richie makes himself comfortable on Stan’s plush leather couch and starts up  _ Monty Python _ , again. 

Stan rolls his eyes and grabs his laptop to get some work done.

He’s got other clients that he should be paying closer attention to.

Really, he does.

Taking over as Richie’s agent since he jumped back into acting put Stan on the map-without his agency, he’d probably be some kind of accountant or lawyer in Atlanta. 

Some days, he wishes he was there, but then he remembers he needs Richie as much as Richie needs him. 

Getting to be his plus one at award shows was honestly just a bonus.

Richie and Stan’s relationship is a complex interweave of business and friendship; with anyone else, Stan’s skin would be crawling at the unprofessionalism, but someone needs to take care of Richie. 

Good thing he’s there, too, because Richie nearly got raped by his first contract back. 

Stan fixed it, posing as his agent, because he couldn’t let Richie lose money just because he doesn’t know legal jargon. 

He kissed his boards goodbye, but having Jimmy Fallon on speed dial makes it almost worth it. 

Richie’s never told Stan why he wouldn’t take on his old agent, or contract with the bigger talent agency. Stan sometimes thinks he doesn’t know.

He works while Richie falls asleep; he’s halfway through a possible client’s contract when his mind wanders to Eddie Kapsbrak.

He really just wants to know what the big deal is. 

Sure, he’s Richie’s closest friend, but he’s not exactly an open book. 

Stan scrolls through articles about this guy, one from Buzzfeed, one from Billboard, and lands on one from Vogue, of all magazines, dated from six months ago. 

Rising Star Eddie Kapsbrak Speaks Messy Breakup, RE: Response, and Youtuber Life. 

By Carolina Olivera

If you don’t know who alternative pop star Eddie Kapsbrak is, you’ve probably been under a rock.

The rising vocalist and songwriter is already breaking records with his first album,  _ RE:, _ which just hit all streaming services last Friday, but you may recognize him from his recent appearance as musical guest on  _ Saturday Night Live _ . 

Eddie’s brand is all things eclectic, soft, and beautiful; his feed is filled with makeup tutorials, storytimes, and song covers of everyone from Queen to Troye Sivan. His aesthetic is wrapped up in millennial pink, and his debut album is wrapped in bubblegum fantasy pop reminiscent of Taylor Swift and Halsey.

We were blessed to have Eddie Kapsbrak in studio last week just in time for the album to drop, and I was able to sit down with him for a little to talk about it. 

“The title really drives home that these songs were my response to things going on in my life. This is my first album, and I’ve been working on this piece specifically for about a year now, but so many of these songs were written before I was even considered relevant,” he said when asked about the meanings behind the title. 

Were any of these songs about a former lover? The star laughed, his face flushing. 

“ _ Red Flag  _ is definitely one! I wrote that after my first relationship, a really hard time in my life, and being able to articulate my feelings into such a gorgeous tune, provided by Mketa Muse as normal, really helped me move past it.”

It should be noted that Eddie mentioned nothing about rumored ex Myra Smith; the controversial and highly criticized editorial writer would often drop hints about the pair, but they were never seen together.

(Click  **here** for more on Myra/Eddie and what we do know.)

Eddie’s life has been in the spotlight for some time. The twenty-nine year old, who just broke four million on youtube for his recent music video to  _ Forever _ , rose to prominence through his covers on Youtube. His biggest hit, a cover of  _ Russian Roulette  _ currently boasts 420 million views. He thinks it’s one of his worst videos.

“Oh my god, I was like, seventeen when I posted that, oh, I was so in love with that song,” Eddie recalled, “but you can literally hear the strain in my voice--even so, the amount of comments that were overwhelmingly positive about my voice was crazy. I was trying so hard, and I really hadn’t learned breath control or anything yet.”

Speaking of music, does Eddie have any big plans for future projects?

“Not right now,” he smiled, (and we here at Vogue.com need to let you know that this is crucial information) and his eyes twinkled.

“I want to enjoy the rest of  _ RE: _ ’s response, maybe go visit some cities and meet some fans, but honestly? I want a nap.”

Eddie, we really hope you get that nap, and in the meantime we’re going to continue blasting  _ Red Flag _ as our power anthem! 

Eddie K’s debut album  _ RE:  _ is now streaming on all services! Tell us in the comments below what your favorite song is.

Stan’s brow raises. Okay, so maybe Stan gets why Richie is head over heels, just a little bit. Eddie’s cute, and he’s clearly already had much success in his own field, enough that Bill is considering attaching him to his pet project. 

On cue, Stan’s email dings. 

_ from Bill Denbrough, subject: Auditions? _

Stan fights the grin that involuntary slips onto his face at the notification and clicks on the message. 

_ Hey Stan! It’s Bill from the movie! We’re still finalizing details for the final draft of the script, but we would love to have Tozier to come and audition for us before we officially open up auditions. Ben is adamant on his talent (and we’re not blind, we’ve seen his movies), but we wanna make sure he’s the right fit for the role.  _

Stan snorts. He has no doubt that Richie’s the right fit, but he understands. 

_ Let me talk to Richie and see what I can do. How soon? _

Stan looks over at Richie to see the other sleeping with his head tipped backwards, mouth open and snoring like a foghorn. His email dings again.

_ ...Richie? And whenever he is free works for us.  _

_ What, you didn’t think I called him Richard, did you? And how about next Thursday?  _

The bubbles began to form as Bill wrote his reply. 

_ No comment ;) Next Thursday works, down at the studio? Ben’s office at 1? _

Stan is working, so he’s decidedly not overthinking the winky face emoji. He looks over at the dying cat on the sofa next to him, and makes the call. 

_ Works for us. See you then. Contact me if anything changes.  _

Bill sent a wink, so a smile wouldn’t hurt, right?

Before losing his nerve, Stan sends the “:)” and locks his phone to focus on the movie.

And you know, make sure his multi-millionaire employer/best friend doesn’t choke himself with his own drool. 


	4. Fame Is What You Make of It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie’s met a handful of A-list celebrities, tons of B-list, and feels that he is comfortably sat on the C-list, but there are still times that people surprise him.
> 
> Such as one Richard Tozier.
> 
> Who just called him a saucy twink in short shorts and a fanny pack.

(coffeeselfie.jpg : Mike, Bill, and Eddie holding iced coffees, sunglasses perched on the noses of all three. The trio are making goofy faces, and Mike’s foot is in the air for some reason.) 

eddie-is-ok : like I said guys, coming soon. This time with @hantheman and @willydenbrough, in LA.

richard-t, marshdesigns, and 4,235 others liked this post

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hantheman ✓: give the people what they want @eddie-is-ok

marshdesigns ✓: my boys ♡ welcome to la!!!!! ) 

Eddie Kapsbrak likes to pride himself on his ability to not completely shut down in social situations. For someone overcoming both anxiety and his mother’s Munchausen by proxy syndrome, being in the limelight near constantly should have been the biggest trigger he’s ever experienced.

The never ending invasion of his privacy, the demand of creating content, the stress of being scrutinized creates a perfect storm for mayhem. For anyone else, they would be catatonic. 

Eddie’s just that fucked up, he guesses, because the attention actually gives him power. 

It’s so much effort, but the response he receives from each video, song, tweet, and picture helps fuel his creativity. 

While there is tons and tons of negativity out there about him, spawning anywhere from his sexual identity to his “mysterious past,” the general public...generally likes him. He’s met a handful of A-list celebrities, tons of B-list, and feels that he is comfortably sat on the C-list, but there are still times that people surprise him.

Such as one Richard Tozier.

Who just called him a saucy twink in short shorts and a fanny pack. 

(It’s back in style, okay? And okay so maybe Eddie’s made a career off being soft and aesthetic worthy, but he’s not a twink.  _ Definitely not a twink. _ )

Eddie’s mouth drops open in shock. 

Ben’s office in the Los Angeles studio is hot, fucking steaming actually despite the air conditioner on full blast, and Eddie’s second guessing this move he, Bill, and Mike have planned. 

So sue, him-he’s in shorts, and a fanny pack is the best way to carry his phone. 

Also, fuck him, he’s not a twink. 

“I’m not-”

He starts to repeat, but Richard waves him off.

“Sure, you’re not, sweetheart, and I’m fucking Mrs. Clause.”

Eddie looks helplessly at Ben, who hasn’t even looked up from the draft of Richard’s contract he’s reviewing with Tozier’s agent. 

Richard takes note of Eddie’s silence and snorts.

“That was a joke,” he says, “relax, man.”

Eddie tries to will his shoulders to untense. 

“I’m actually fucking your mom.”

Eddie’s eyes narrow.

What the fuck? 

They really mean it when they say never meet your heroes, don’t they?

Like,  _ this _ is Academy Award nominated actor Richard Tozier? This  _ fuckhead _ currently trying to drink a 7/11 slurpee without a straw wearing  _ Birkenstocks _ ?

“Excuse me?” he asks, stunned at the taller man. 

Richard wipes the red syrup onto his shirt and sticks out his hand. 

“Richard Tozier, friends call me Richie. What’s your name, cutie?” 

Eddie stares at the hand warily and crosses his arms. 

“Don’t call me that, asshat,” he bit back, cheeks flushing red. 

Richard’s eyebrows jump from above the thick frames he has on. 

Before the actor can respond, his agent deftly steps in between the two. 

“Beep, beep, Richie,” he says pointedly, glaring up at the actor, “can you not try and fuck with the screenwriter’s best friend until we at least sign the fucking contract first.”

The curly haired man sounds exasperated and looks exhausted, and Eddie can’t help but wonder how much he’s getting paid. 

He turns to Eddie, a sympathetic smile on his face.

“I’m Stan, Richie’s agent. I’ve heard a lot of great things about your work.”

And damn it, if that doesn’t make Eddie go bright red, because it’s been six months since  _ RE: _ came out and he still gets flustered at all the compliments. 

Stan sticks out his hand and Eddie shakes it, a soft smile on his face.

“Edward Kaspbrak,” he smiles, “Eddie’s just fine, though.”

RIchie interjects excitedly.

“So you’ve got a nickname, what like Eds or something?”

Eddie hears the echo of his mother’s last desperate plea of  _ Eddie Bear  _ and sees red for a hot second. 

“Don’t call me that, you fucking trashmouth, do you not have a filter or something?” 

Stan and Richie look stunned, and Ben’s office is silent until he hears the slow clapping coming from Ben’s side of the room.

“First time I’ve ever seen him silent, Eddie, I should keep you on set so we stay on schedule.”

“T-t-trust me, Ben,” a new voice calls from the doorway, “E-eh-eddie doesn’t even need to be there to keep everyone o-oh-on schedule.”

They all turn to see Bill and Mike in the doorway, hands intertwined. 

Eddie can see Stanley flush red at the sound of Bill’s voice, then all the color drain as quickly as it spread when he glanced at his hand wrapped around Mike’s. 

Interesting. 

The director beside Bill snorts. 

“What the hell do you mean that you’re not done yet, William?” Mike mimicked, and Bill’s shoulder’s shake with laughter. 

“It’s f-fuh-four fucking am, and you woke me up b-buh-cause you just finished the scene and you want to tell me?” he chimed in. 

Yeah, they’re laughing now, but everyone in the apartment is grateful that Eddie put his foot down on Bill’s cryptid writing schedule. 

Although the time Mike broke Bill’s nose with a tennis racket in his underwear because of one of his late night excursions was pretty iconic, and now Eddie’s laughing, too. 

Richie and Stan look at the trio with confusion, and they eventually stop to remember where they are. 

Bill’s eyes shine when he sees the two and he breaks away from Mike’s side. 

“I’m B-buh-Bill Denbrough,” he smiles and shakes their hands, “I recognize Richard, so I’m assuming you’re Stan?”

Stan nods, minutely, face seemingly impassive. 

“I’ve got a face so memorable they should put it on Mount Rushmore, Billy Boy,” Richie says, slapping his hand over Bill’s. 

Stan rolls his eyes.

“More like they should put it on the No Fly List,” he snickers and looks over Bill’s shoulder to the bigger man standing behind him, “and I’m assuming you’re Michael Hanlon?”

Gratefully, everyone in the room ignores Richie’s squawks of “It was one time, Staniel!”, and Mike puts his hand out. 

Mike gives a bright smile when Stan deftly shakes it. 

“Friends call me Mike.”

Stan smiles back, and Eddie can’t help but feel incredibly confused about the vibes in the room. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t have to think about it much longer before Ben stands, seemingly content with the document in front of him.

“Now that we’re all acquainted, let’s get down to business,” he grins, walking over to the group on the other side of his office. 

Ben’s only 32, quite young for an executive, and even younger to be in an office this large. 

Eddie wouldn’t be surprised if Ben has some shit on someone higher up. 

“We want Richie for this movie.”

Stan nods, face growing serious as he opens the large binder he grabbed off Ben’s desk. 

“I think we’ve come to a nice agreement, a win-win for everyone. Richie’s first billed, a more than generous salary that doesn’t infringe into the proposed budget Ben gave me, and 15% distribution rights.”

Bill’s face shifts into something uncomfortable, because even though he knows Richie is going to be ideal for this role, he’d prefer that he and Mike and their casting director Kay choose their leads. And their terms. 

Mike, however, takes the diplomatic role and crosses to look at the contract. 

“Half of this isn’t even my job, man, but from what I’m looking at, Richie’s getting a solid deal. And of course, this is all dependent on Richie’s chem tests going well with the people Kay has lined up.”

Ben and Stan nod, the former making a note in the margin of his notes. 

“Of course, we love Richie, but we can’t sell and make a profit if the chemistry isn’t there. We’ve handled this with big ticket stars in the past. No signing anything until we officially pick you for the part.”

Eddie’s anxiety has crept slowly throughout the conversation. He always forgets that both Mike and Bill’s jobs are so intense, and he’s beginning to question why he’s even there. 

He must look a little sick to his stomach, because he makes eye contact with Richard. A look of concern crosses the other’s face before it settles on a frown. 

“And, Eddie Spaghetti over here, he’s contributing songs to the film?”

Eddie’s face grows red at the nickname, and he opens his mouth to retort before Mike cuts him off. 

“Well, yes and no. Eddie is already unofficially serving as a creative consultant, and the three of us have decided to set the movie to slow 80’s summer bops.”

Eddie remembers how to speak and chimes in.

“I wrote a couple songs while Bill was writing the manuscript, and two fit the actual theme of the film, so they’ll either be independently released tie-ins, or something for the flashback scenes at the end.”

Richie nods, still frowning but seemingly agreeable, and turns to Bill and Mike. 

“So, I’m here for a chemistry read? Where is my strapping Benvolio?”


	5. When the Whole Wide World's Your Stage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie has always been the perfect Mercutio, at least in his mind. He’s always had just enough spunk to be both annoying and educational, deep and crude, and makes a mental note for Stan to look for a company production of Romeo and Juliet. 
> 
> Preferably, one that takes Mercutio and Benvolio’s relationship out of subtext and into context. 
> 
> Either way, Richie can’t be Romeo, because right now his Juliets (Julios?) are making him want to hurl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, we're back to consistent posting, and this time with a whole theme rehaul! If you haven't caught on, this story is based off "Green" by Todrick Hall from his Straight Outta Oz album. (I recommend it, seriously, it's a work of art both musically and visually.)  
Either way, if you don't listen to the song and have been reading, then you probably caught the drift that something is lurking under all the exposition. In my opinion, it's boring so far, but no worries. We're picking up soon ;)

Richie has always been the perfect Mercutio, at least in his mind. He’s always had just enough spunk to be both annoying and educational, deep and crude, and makes a mental note for Stan to look for a company production of Romeo and Juliet. 

Preferably, one that takes Mercutio and Benvolio’s relationship out of subtext and into context. 

Either way, Richie can’t be Romeo, because right now his Juliets (Julios?) are making him want to hurl. 

It’s a chemistry read, so it’s less about lines at this point and more about the feeling. 

And god love him, he’s not feeling it with Patrick Hockstetter. 

Their characters aren’t meshing, partially because Hockstetter has the personality of a slow moving train, mostly because he won’t stop looking at Richie like he’s disgusting.

Richie’s genuinely trying here. 

“Tommy, baby, please, tell me that this isn’t goodbye,” Patrick says, near deadpan.

Later, Richie will mimic this repeatedly on the drive home until Stan nearly crashes the car, but for right now he needs to hold in his chuckles and be sad, dammit!

Richie, trying to accurately convey the feeling of saying goodbye forever to his one soulmate, fights the urge to gag and instead begins to tear up. 

“I’m scared, Lex, I can’t tell you this won’t be goodbye. I don’t know when I’ll see you next, I don’t even know how I’ll be when I see you next,” he says, and he knows this isn’t working. 

Kay calls cut, and both he and Patrick break, tension visibly leaking out of their shoulders. 

As the four at the table converse, Richie turns to Patrick and throws out a hand. 

“Nice to meet you, man, I’m-”

“I know who you are, Tozier. I’m not a fan of your work, queer.”

Richie sees the four all pause, and the air grows still. His smile drops. 

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t like your Disney Channel shit, and I hate your other stuff. You’re taking roles from people who deserve them,” Patrick bites, arms crossed.

“Meaning what?”

Hockstetter rolls his eyes. 

“You’ve had your run. This whole bisexual thing is you fighting to stay relevant, but eventually you’ll fade off just like every other child star has been.”

And, damn, if that didn’t pull a thread that Richie thought he’d snapped years ago. Memories of a man’s voice bubble up, and Richie forgets where he is. 

_ Richard, don’t be queer, sit up straight. _

_ Richard, we’re going to send you to a special camp if you keep doing this.  _

_ Think about your image, Richard, kids need to know that gay is not okay.  _

The nightmare in Richie’s head would have continued if not for the sharp snap from the table. He looks over to see four red faces; Eddie is clutching two halves of a pencil, furious. Stan is only held back by Ben, who is preparing to call security. 

Richie’s comfortable with himself now, mostly because that asshole quit being his manager years ago, and because he’s unintentionally surrounded himself with queer friends.

Doesn’t mean the homophobia doesn’t still hurt. 

Bill plasters a smile on his face and slams Patrick’s headshot onto the reject pile. 

“We’ll be in touch. Next, please!”

Hockstetter leaves, and Richie takes a deep breath. 

“Can I take five?”

Mike nods, and moves to stand. Bill follows suit, stretching his back. 

Richie swiftly but deftly ducks out the door, and Stan follows. 

If RIchie was in a better state of mind, he would’ve noticed Eddie’s concerned eyes following him out the door. 

However, he was one apple short of a bushel right now, and he breaks out into hyperventilations before he even reaches the door. 

Richie wishes that sometimes he could just melt down and move on, but that’s not how these work. 

Stan’s suddenly at his side, because he’s always here when the attacks happen, and he gets Richie to sit. 

Somehow, the hallway’s empty. The only sound is his ragged breathing, and the faint conversations on the other side of the wall. 

He can’t even think of anything anymore, the adrenaline coursing through his head too loud that it drowns out any coherent thought. 

Richie thinks he could kiss Stan, because he doesn’t try to make him talk or breathe normally or any of the other shit his myriad of therapists have tried to have him do when this happens. 

He doesn’t know how long they sit there, long enough for his head and heart to stop pounding and for his breathing to not be audible. 

“Say the word, Rich, and we’ll get him blacklisted,” Stan starts, and continues through Richie’s protests.

“Don’t tell me it’s okay, because it’s not. And don’t try to say that you deserve it, because you don’t. Hockstetter’s always been a piece of work, he’s got a reputation for a reason.”

Richie knows Stan is right, and would normally be up for a fight, but right now he just wants to get through this read so he can go home and curl up on the couch with Bev. 

He simply nods, and pushes himself up before offering Stan a hand. 

“You ready?”

Stan smiles up at him and takes it. 

Hours later, Richie is convinced he may not get this part. 

If Eddie and Bill’s faces are any indication of how this is going, Richie (and whoever Todrick is?) is not going to be playing a lead. 

“Okay, Richie,” Mike’s smile is strained, all formalities evaporated after the third hour of failed chemistry between various actors, models, and a few performers, “why don’t we try someone else?”

Richie doesn’t even know why he’s still there, other than the fact that Ben is hell bent on him having this role, and Stan’s subtly making goo goo eyes at Bill Denbrough and not paying attention at all. 

And Richie doesn’t have time to unpack all that now, but later? It’ll be like Chaunakah.

The writer in question looks down at his list and sighs. 

“We’ve gone through all my f-fuh-first choices for Alex, and yours for t-t-Tommy,” he rubs his hands across his eyes. 

Ben looks nearly dead in the corner, head snapping up once and a while to confirm that he’s actually still alive. Mike and Bill are slumped on one end of the table, and Kay is slumped on the other, coffee cup in front of her long emptied. Stan is still watching Bill but tucked into the corner opposite Ben, and Eddie is slouched in a chair pulled up to the table beside Bill. 

Richie can’t help but watch him. Eddie is even more attractive in real life than he is online, and Richie didn’t even think that was possible. His brown hair is windswept and curly around his ears, and even though he’s half asleep, Richie can’t escape the memory of his eyes burning up at him after Richie called him Eds. 

_ Cute, cute, cute, _ he thinks, resisting the urge (for once) to be a trashmouth, deciding to watch the smaller man instead. 

Bill catches him staring at Eddie, and he smiles as if a light switch was turned on. He bumps Mike on the shoulder, and they have a silent conversation before they turn to Kay. 

“Kay, light of our lives, our sweet, sweet casting goddess,” Mike began, a smile on his face. 

The woman rolled her eyes in response. 

“Call in whoever you want, Michael, I’m tired and I want to go home to see my wife.”

Mike smiles and turns to Eddie. 

“B-buh-bear with us, everyone, we’ve got one f-fuh-final read today, if they’re up for it,” Bill starts, and Eddie’s eyes widen.

“Bill, I already told you-”

“Eddie, we need a win today, Bill wrote Alex with you in mind, please?” Mike cuts in, breaking out what Richie thinks are supposed to be puppy dog eyes. 

Whatever they are, they work, and Eddie heaves a sigh before standing and moving next to Richie. 

He holds his script up. 

Bill smiles. 

“From the same place?”

Richie, rationally, knows that Eddie’s never acted other than a few guest spots, and the one time he was the musical guest on SNL a couple of months ago, but wow. 

One minute Eddie looks down, and the next Alex looks up. 

“Tommy,” he pleads, blue sorrowful eyes meeting Richie’s, filling with unshed tears, “tell me this isn’t goodbye.”

Richie takes a sharp breath and exhales. 

“I-” he needs to cough because he’s actually choked up, “I-I’m scared, Lex, I can’t tell you this won’t be goodbye. I don’t know when I’ll see you next, I don’t even know how I’ll be when I see you next.”

Eddie’s shoulders begin to shake, but no tears have fallen. 

“What if I don’t go?”

Eddie’s head snaps up, the distraught visible on his face.

“Tommy, you have to. You won’t get the treatment you need.”

Richie shakes his head and grabs Eddie’s hand. 

“It’s bullshit, Lex, they don’t even know if it works. I heard from ‘Lito that this shit we’re given is a test. They don’t even know if we’ll survive it.”

“But what if you pass the test? What if it works for you?”

Richie feels a tear roll down his cheek, but he doesn’t move to push it away.

“Even if it works, they can’t give me a date. I’m still on the clock, I’ll still die, Lex,” he whispers hoarsely, and moves his free hand to cup Eddie’s cheek. 

Eddie leans into it and puts his hand over Richie’s. 

“What if it’s less painful, baby?” he says softly, and Richie can feel his heart shatter, “we both know the stories. What if they find a way to make it peaceful?”

Richie looks down at his next line and scoffs. 

“More peaceful? Dying in a sanitized bed, alone and untouched because your caretakers are so afraid to get your gay disease? Because you can’t be let into the room because we’re not married? Because the only people let into my room will be family, and they stopped talking to me years ago?” 

He’s breathing heavily, and it’s only then he realizes that he’s got tears streaming down his face.

Richie hears clapping from the table, and breaks eye contact with Eddie to see Mike, Kay, and Bill clapping wide, relieved smiles across their faces. 

Richie looks over to Ben, who has a similar grin. 

“I told you, he’s perfect.”

Eddie’s eyes bug and he looks over to Bill. 

“I was just reading, Bill, I can’t actually act,” he protests, face growing pink with embarrassment. 

“Bullshit,” Richie murmurs, and the pink blends to a dark shade of red.

“I second that,” Stan adds, moving to stand next to Kay, “if I were you, I’d put Eddie in serious consideration, and worry about the rest for the next day of casting.”

Kay smirks at him and turns to the man in question.

“What do you say, Eddie, you interested to be the other male lead?”


	6. How Much Do You Want It?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No, Mike, I’m not going to calm down! I control what I tell in RE: I had complete creative control! I’m not an actor, I’m not trained for this! You’re right, Bill,” he starts, glaring up at the redhead. 
> 
> “I sit in front of a camera and I talk about the parts of my life I choose to share. And, sure, this piece isn’t a biography, it’s not my life, but do you know what it is? It’s everything my mom told me growing up coming true.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Homework? Freshman year of college? A social life? Nope, instead we're going to keep hyperfixating on IT Ch 2 and pretending that the things that happened didn't happen :)  
Forever :)  
This is going to keep going, but with little interruptions bc I have so many feelings about Chapter 2.  
But for now, please enjoy! 😊

Bill slams the car door and angrily stalks forward towards the doors leading from the garage to their new apartment. Mike is silent but similarly angry, carefully shutting his and following his angry boyfriend’s lead. 

Eddie doesn’t even know what to say to him right now. He doesn’t know what to say to anyone.

What the fuck do you say when you get offered the costarring role in such a major motion picture?

“Huh-Who the fuck says no to the c-cuh-costarring role in a m-muh-major m-muh-  _ fuck  _ to a movie like this!” Bill shouts, pulling at the ends of his hair. 

Eddie’s anxiety shoots through the roof, and his hands start to shake. 

“What was I supposed to say? We talked about this, I wasn’t going to read for this because I’m not ready!”

“Buh-buh-bullshit, Eddie! You make all your money by s-ss-sitting in front of a camera! And don’t say it’s about the v-vuh-v-vulnerability of it all, you wrote a song about losing your v-vuh-v-Jesus you wrote a song about fucking Tyler!”

It’s a low blow, and they both know it, because Bill’s eyes widen as soon as he said it. 

Eddie shoulders curl in, and he steps back. 

“Seriously? Bill, I do it because I have control! I control the narrative of my channel, I control what I tell them and what I don’t! My followers don’t know about him because I didn’t tell them! They all assume it was Myra, and I let them!”

“Hey guys, why don’t we just,” Mike moves to comfort Eddie, but he shrugs him off. 

“No, Mike, I’m not going to calm down! I control what I tell in  _ RE: _ I had complete creative control! I’m not an actor, I’m not trained for this! You’re right, Bill,” he starts, glaring up at the redhead. 

“I sit in front of a camera and sing and write stories about the parts of my life that I want to share. And, sure, this piece isn’t a biography, it’s not  _ my  _ life, but do you know what it is? It’s everything my mom told me growing up coming true.”

Mike and Bill are stunned, frozen into silence. 

The fact that they’re quiet proves his point, and he takes the silence as his out, stalking towards his room and locking the door behind him. 

They don’t get it. 

No one gets it. 

Munchausen by proxy syndrome is diagnosed in the caretaker, but nothing is said about the child overprotected. 

Eddie’s pulse is pounding through his brain, and he tries not to think about his mother’s words haunting the back of his mind. 

He tries not to think of the first time he kissed a guy and threw up immediately after.

He tries not to think of when he and Tyler hooked up for the first time when Myra was away, and how he showered three times that night because he felt dirty. 

He tries not to think about how Richie’s hand on his cheek today triggered disgust and devotion, excitement and emesis-inducing panic, an oxymoronic tidal wave of tingles that makes his head spin even now. 

He is thinking about it, and it’s reached the point where it’s either think about her or don’t think at all, so he ends up staring blankly at the wall, cheeks dry, floating in and out of reality. 

Eddie’s dissociative episodes began long before he left Derry. 

He was alone, alot, stuck observing things from the discomfort of his bed. He was never allowed to go out and play, never allowed to eat anything without her inspection. 

Greta was a bitch, but he’d probably still be at home if it wasn’t for her telling him about the placebos. 

The fucking placebos, and the fake medical notes, and the inhaler, and he can feel his chest tightening up just thinking about it. 

_ Now, Eddie Bear, you know you can’t go out and just run with those other kids. You’re sick, baby, and Mommy doesn’t want to see you get hurt.  _

_ Eddie Bear, don’t eat that ice cream! You know you’re lactose intolerant.  _

_ Eddie Bear, this is why we don’t go outside with those horrible boys. You’ll get sick and die if you’re around them. I’ll keep you safe.  _

He doesn’t know how long he drifted in and out of consciousness, but suddenly there’s a ping from his phone. 

He swears to God if it’s Mike or Bill then he’s going to chuck the fucking phone through the goddamn window. 

Eddie moves to the edge of his bed where he threw his jacket he was wearing earlier, and pulls out the phone. 

The notification turned on his screen, and he squints his eyes at the brightness in the dark room as he tries to read the message. 

_ From: Unknown _

_ Hey, Eds, it’s Richie, from the casting thing today! _

Eddie snorts, because Richard fucking Tozier is reintroducing himself over text like he’s not Richard fucking Tozier.

As he moves to reply, several messages pop up. 

_ Bev gave me ur number i hope thats ok _

_ I was just checkin in  _

_ U froze there _

_ its a big decision so i get it if u dont wanna do it  _

Eddie, unused to getting comfort from a practical stranger, just watches the messages pop up in confusion and slight delight. 

_ Also if ur not eddie this ab to be super fuckin awko _

_ Awko taco _

He thinks it’s a good time to respond. 

_ Yeah, it’s me, Richard. It’s nothing to do with the decision making and everything to do with the fact that I told Bill and Mike that I wasn’t going to read for the part. I’m not an actor, I’m just their friend who happens to make professional music and shitty videos on the internet.  _

The bubbles immediately pop up

_ He lives _

_ Also pls call me Richie its like my personal pronouns :) _

_ U were gr8 man seriously _

_ And your music is fucking amazeballs  _

_ Don’t get me started on your videos _

The bubbles pause for a minute. 

_ Bev says she’s going to give Bill a call so if u wanna warn him she’s v mad.  _

_ But that that was a shitty thing for them to do. _

_ Even though you are the perfect person and best choice for this role :) _

Eddie can hear Bill picking up his ringing phone from the other room; he bites his lip and starts replying. 

_ He’s in for it. Bev has a thing for comfort zones, and they pushed me out of mine. Thank you for the compliment.  _

Eddie bites harder, and he can taste the blood. Is he really about to tell Richa-Richie something he’s only told Bill, Bev, and his court assigned therapist?

_ But that’s what scares me about this role.  _

The bubbles disappear and reappear for a few minutes, and Eddie’s heart races until the next message pops up. 

_ Is it something about the gay part or… _

Eddie decides to sprinkle the truth.

_ I was a hypochondriac as a kid. I was afraid of getting simple colds, so the concept of being in a movie with such a focus on disease brings back stupid fears.  _

The response is quicker this time. 

_ Eds, no fear is stupid _

_ I’m afraid of clowns, man _

_ But no worries _

_ I’m clean.  _

_ I get tested monthly  _

_ there’s always protection so u don’t need to worry ab swapping spit ;) _

Eddie smiles and resists the urge to gag.

_ Ok but get some mints bc your breath has to smell like shit from all the trash u say. _

_ And clowns are fucking scary _

_ Also I can’t believe you actually used amazeballs unironically _

_ ….u watch my stuff _

Richie’s text bubbles disappear for three minutes and then he starts typing.

_ Ok as in yes?????????? _

_ Or that ull seriously think ab it????????? _

_ And i am amazeballs eddie spaghetti :P _

Eddie notices that he doesn’t comment on his last message, but he decides not to push. 

_ I’ll think about it. I need to talk to Billy anyway.  _

Richie’s response is lightning fast.

_ I mean you can, Bevvie’s off the phone. _

_ Eddie, go fucking work this out goddamn it its like The Great Busch Fight of ‘13 for the love of fuck talk this out.  _

_ I’ll seriously come over there and kick your asses if u dont.  _

  * _<3 Bevvie. _

Eddie looks up from his phone at the soft knock on his door, and he pads over to the door. 

“Eh-e-Eddie?” Bill asks, stutter betraying the sadness in his tone, “c-cuh-can I c-come in?”

He doesn’t answer, simply unlocks the door to see Bill, arm still raised to knock again, bright blue eyes red rimmed. 

They look at each other for a moment before Bill collects Eddie into a tight hug. 

No matter what was going to be said next, Eddie would’ve forgiven him right then and there, because Bill gives the best hugs. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles into Bill’s flannel, and the taller man pulls back. 

Bill pulls back and splutters.

“Eddie, no I’m s-s-sorry. Mike and I, w-wu-we pushed you too f-fuh-far,” he apologizes, face bright red. 

Eddie shakes his head.

“No, I just need to move past my shit, I need to move on from her influence, Billy.”

Bill nods, agreeing with him.

“O-oh-okay, but Eddie you set b-buh-boundaries with us, and i-it wasn’t okay. We knew, a-and we s-su-st-su-” Bill cuts himself off, face growing red from effort, and Eddie puts his hand on his shoulder. 

“We both could have handled it better, Bill. If I didn’t really want to read, I wouldn’t have.”

“Yeah, b-bu-but I get why you don’t w-uh-want to do this, and w-w-we can talk to Ben on Monday.”

Eddie takes a deep breath. 

“Or, we could call Ben right now and tell him that I’m taking the role?”

Bill looks up, astonished. 

“R-ruh-really?”

Eddie smiles hesistantly. 

“Nothing like saying fuck you to my mom harder than playing a gay character in an 80s nostalgia socially aware love story, right?”

Bill whoops and hugs Eddie; Mike slides into the room in his socks, boxers, and one of Bill’s flannels. 

“Is everyone okay? I heard a whoop, I didn’t know if it was good or if someone hit the floor.”

Bill smiles at him and glances down at Eddie.

“I d-duh-dunno, depends. We’ve got our Alex.”

Mike’s expression flies through confusion to acknowledgment. 

“Oh, man, yes!” he whoops, excited, and grabs Eddie’s hand before pulling him into a bro hug. 

“Does this mean we can call Ben without Bev yelling at us in the background now?”

\---

[ richard-t ✓ : any of u ever met an actual disney prince???? asking for a friend. ]

Richie is currently moping at one end of the couch, head in Bev’s lap as Stan’s choice of movie plays in the background. 

Bev’s got her hands in his hair, and is singing under her breath.

All in all, not a bad end to his day. 

“Okay, so Bill and Eddie are sorting their shit,” she says, and turns to Stan, “what’s this about Hockstetter being a fucking jackass?”

Richie genuinely has no idea how she found out, but assumes either Mike or Bill told her. 

Damn cooperative and supportive exes. Richie’s life would be easier without them. 

“It was nothing, Bev, don’t worry about it,” he starts, and a choking noise comes from Stan’s comfy chair. 

“Bullshit, Trashmouth, it wasn’t nothing! It triggered an attack again! He hasn’t had those since-” and Stan abruptly cuts himself off. They all remember his last panic attack. 

Stan, because he’s wonderful at his job, managed to keep it out of the papers, but Richie spent 27 days in the hospital after his last attack. 

“When’s your next meeting with your therapist, Rich?” Bev asks, still softly carding her hands through his curls. 

“About a week, Bev,” he mutters into her leg, and her hands still. 

“Okay,” she starts, taking a breath, “then we’ll monitor it. If it gets back this week, we come home, put on comfy clothes, and watch  _ Coco  _ so you can see Stanny cry again.”

“Shut the fuck up, Beverly, it means I have a heart. De La Vega can rot in hell,” Stan bites back with no real heat, looking back down at Richie’s contract in front of him. 

“So can Hockstetter,” Richie adds from his position, and picks up the phone lying by his legs to see if Eddie texted him back. 

He was trying to be slick, but Bev is slicker. 

“Calm down, Richie, he’s just talking to Bill,” she says, hands resuming their massaging motions, “they did this shit all the time when we all lived together. It’s just a lot of man pain and tears and hugging--it’ll be fine.”

Richie has no doubt that Eddie’s fine, but he’d still like to know how it went and if Eddie’s okay.

And maybe, just maybe if Eddie’s doing the movie. 

Call Richie selfish, but Eddie makes him feel in ways he’s never felt before, even when he was acting. 

He wants Eddie to make him feel like this all the time, and hopes that maybe he makes Eddie feel this way, too. 

Richie’s focus returns to the movie, the one Disney one about the waitress girl kissing a frog, and he can’t help but think of Eddie’s perfectly pink lips and bright eyes. 

He needs to focus on the movie, or he’ll pop one in front of Bev and Stan and then have to kill himself. 

Ben has never burst in at a better time. 

“Guys,” he smiles, phone in hand, “you’ll never guess who I just got off the phone with.”   



	7. There Are Millions Who'd Kill to See Their Name Up in the Lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Haha, yes, beep beep Marsh, at least I can boil water,” he says into the glass.
> 
> “Richie, you can’t cook either.”
> 
> Stan and Bill, sat respectively beside and diagonally to Richie, snort into their wine glasses, and look up at each other with sheepish smiles. 
> 
> “Beverly, you know you’re wonderful, but Richie’s n-nuh-never poisoned me with pasta,” Bill states kindly. 
> 
> She arches an eyebrow, silently giving Bill that one. That was a bad night in the Marsh-Denbrough apartment.
> 
> “So, how do you all know each other, again?” Mike asks politely, smiling and taking a sip of his wine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Alt title is the power of seven, but you'll see why this one works better.)
> 
> College is fucking crazy, y'all but I'll try to be a little consistent with these postings. I'm so attached to this story it's not funny. 
> 
> (And thank you for your lovely comments and encouragement no one gets how much it means <3)
> 
> Sorry in advance for the ending, and if you are catching the drift on where this is going, sad brownie points go to you.

[luckyseven.jpg 

(description: a picture of the seven major players in Bill Denbrough’s movie, seated as if they were the Last Supper, with the screenwriter himself posing as Jesus in the center. All seem gleeful.) 

Handsome-hanscom ✓: big things cooking up at the Hanscom-Marsh househould .unfortunately nothing wedding :( #luckyseven

eddie-is-ok, stanuris, and 300 others liked this post

20 comments

richard-t ✓: that means i still have time to win you over yet @handsome-hanscom 

marshdesigns ✓: beep beep @richard-t ]

What a rag-tag group of idiots, Richie can’t help but think as he looks around the dinner table. 

Upon Bev’s request, some of the major players in the yet unnamed Bill Denbrough Major Movie Production are meeting for dinner tonight at Ben’s house; it’s quite an awkward picture. 

Richie himself is there, seat next to Bev, who’s there half because she’s fashion consultant to the movie and half because of the ring perched so delicately on her left hand as she sets the basket of breadsticks on the table. 

Ben’s cooking for them so Bev’s serving; there was some kind of divine intervention that saved Richie from Bev’s accidental food poisoning again.

Richie says this aloud, causing Bev to smack him over the head with her oven mitt. 

“Beep beep, Richie,” she mutters face flushing crimson like her hair, “I can cook.”

Eddie, who is neatly sitting across from Richie, scrunches his face.

“Beep beep?” 

Bev grins coyly, side eyeing Richie as she explains why exactly they tell Richie to politely shut the fuck up. 

Eddie’s giggling to himself, and Richie wants to die. 

Instead he just takes another sip of his grape juice, like the responsible fucking adult that he is. 

“Haha, yes, beep beep Marsh, at least I can boil water,” he says into the glass.

“Richie, you can’t cook either.”

Stan and Bill, sat respectively beside and diagonally to Richie, snort into their wine glasses, and look up at each other with sheepish smiles. 

“Beverly, you know you’re wonderful, but Richie’s n-nuh-never poisoned me with pasta,” Bill states kindly. 

She arches an eyebrow, silently giving Bill that one. That was a bad night in the Marsh-Denbrough apartment.

“So, how do you all know each other, again?” Mike asks politely, smiling and taking a sip of his wine. 

“I moved into the area where Birdie’s Band filmed in Burbank my sophomore year of high school and was hired as Richie’s tutor for like a year before his contract with Disney ended. I wasn’t paid after that, but for some fucking reason I helped Richie get his GED.”

“Shut the fuck up, Stanley, you love me,” Richie interjects and rolls his eyes.

Stan huffs into his glass but doesn’t deny it.

“I went to FIT in New York, and I ran into Bill when I accidentally wandered into NYU’s library the first week of my freshman year,” Bev starts, brushing her hands across her skirt. 

“And w-wuh-we dated for two years before we decided to break up,” Bill adds, 

Eddie adds on. “Worst week of my life. Bev was crying, Bill was crying, then they ended up crying together. I screamed at them to get their heads out of their asses the morning after and came home to apology comfort food and smiles.”

Richie opened his mouth but Bev cut him off. 

“We got take out from this place in the Village. Jesus, Rich, we weren’t trying to poison him, it was apology mac and cheese.”

He lets out a guffaw and finishes the grape juice in his glass. 

“Vindication,” he cheers, before pushing his chair out from the table, “I’m going to go check on Benathan and see if he needs any extra hands.”

Richie can feel Eddie’s eyes on his backside as he walks to the kitchen, and can’t fight the smirk that crosses his face. 

The first floor of Ben’s (and soon, Beverly’s as well) home has an open floor layout, with the only walls being the load bearing foundational ones. The dining room and kitchen are separated by only a sleek bar with high chairs, so Richie can continue to absent mindedly listen to Stan regale to Mike the story of how he first met Bev. 

(Really wasn’t that interesting, and Richie will insist that every time they tell the story. Stan and Beverly, however, think it’s hilarious. 

It’s not Richie’s fault that he got wasted and sent noods to his personal staff over Snapchat.

It was actually pictures of noodles, not nude pictures like both Stan and Richie believed it to be, and subsequently learned this after starting their apology tour with Beverly, at the time his personal assistant, who was the first name on their list. 

Richie’s never seen them laugh as hard as they did that day. It’s not that funny, he says, he guesses he just wanted noodles, which makes them both cackle loudly.)

Speaking of noodles.

Richie ignores the burn of his ears and fights the grin when he sees Eddie nearly choke on his juice from laughing so hard. 

Ben, the ever perceptive hunk that he is, catches on. He looks up from his pan of noodles and wiggles his eyebrows at Richie. 

The beanpole in question shoves him lightly on the shoulder.

“Fuck off, Benthany, you know you’re the only dreamboat for me,” he sighs, planting a loud kiss on Ben’s cheek. 

He hears Bev yell “hey!” from the dining room, and grins. 

“He’s mine now, Ringwald,” Richie shouts back, and Ben flushes bright red. 

Richie remembers Ben when he first met him, in the awkward stage of extreme weight loss. He would never take anyone’s compliments seriously, and was in baggy JNCO jeans and t-shirts. Ben was lucky that look was in at the time, because no one would take him seriously now if he still dressed like that. 

Richie takes quick stock of the form fitting sweater and jeans the young producer currently has on, and can’t help but think about how good Ben’s been for Bev, and vice versa. 

He got her away from Tom and she absolved his fashion crimes, Richie muses, true love.

“So Eddie’s a dreamboat?” Ben asks, breaking Richie’s train of thought. 

It’s the actor’s turn to flush, and his curly hair flops as he shakes his head. 

“Nope,” Richie says, popping the ‘p,’ “just the man of my dreams.”

Richie’s not a liar, so he won’t deny it, but he’s got to make it seem insincere somehow. 

He cuts his comments with a dramatic flourish. 

“Eddie, my love, I miss you more than words can say,” he sings, gesturing like a 50s star and using his wine glass as a microphone. 

He can hear Eddie asking Bev “what the fuck?” and sings louder until Stan pipes up. 

“Trashmouth, I can’t enjoy my bread because I’m listening to you screech like a dying cat, shut up!”

Richie grins wolfishly and quits while he’s ahead, filling his glass with more juice and going back towards Ben. 

The other graciously accepts Richie’s help and puts him on the job of chopping the spinach and putting the colander in the sink before shooing Richie back to the living room. 

“I got the rest of the lasagna, go annoy the others,” Ben smiles at him, shoving the large salad bowl in his hands to take out. Richie belatedly wonders if it’s too late to steal Ben from Bev.

Voluntarily cooks lasagna and looks like a god? Richie missed out. 

He heads back into the living room to everyone grinning, and is immediately called out by Beverly. 

His head is turned, so he misses the way Eddie’s eyes light up when Richie sits back down, but Bill doesn’t.

Neither does Mike.

“So, wait, Eddie, you went to NYU?” Stan asks eagerly. 

The man in question nodded, taking another sip of his sparkling grape juice. 

“Yeah, I actually got my degree in business and I was going to be a risk analyst until my songs really started to spread.”

Beverly grins. 

“I remember when Eddie’s first video went viral and he insisted he was going to drop out.”

He flushes and rolls his eyes.

“Don’t joke, Marsh, you were one step away from being my sugar baby,” and sticks out his tongue at her. 

Richie feels something tighten at Eddie saying the words “sugar baby,” and coughs lowly. 

Stan notices, because Stan notices everything. 

“So you’re handling a lot of your own career choices?” 

Eddie nods. 

“I still have an agent, but I do know a little about how my merchandise and album sales should be looking, so I try to give as much input as I can. They really don’t listen, though.”

Richie can’t help himself but to ask a question.

“So, wait, why didn’t you pick English or some shit like that? Business is boring as hell, and you write so well, like, why not do something you liked?”

It’s not a bad question, he knows a good question from an insensitive one, but he still feels like a dick when Eddie’s face pales.

“I was told I can’t do anything with an English degree,” he vaguely elaborates, “so I picked business. Better career choice. Did you even go to college, Richie?” 

Eddie’s tone is bitter and hits Richie harder than he’d admit, so he bites back equally and then some. 

“Actually, I did. UCLA, Communications,” he says shortly, “I wanted to learn how to talk to your mother since she’s up in the atmosphere. You know, since she’s big like a planet? Gotta get my dick fix somehow.”

Eddie’s face grows red. The air is tense, but Richie’s smiling, happy to have Eddie’s attention.

Mike takes a large dreg of his wine, and Bev follows suit. 

“Shut the fuck up, Trashmouth,” he says hotly, in a final sort of way, and drinks his wine. 

It’s still tense, and Richie can overexamine their interaction later over some cheetos and tears, but right now he needs to break this fucking silence because Jesus Christ he can’t fucking breathe and-

“Hey, guys,” Ben enters, oblivious to the tension, slinging a towel on his shoulders, “lasagna should be ready in 30.”

He kisses Bev lightly before taking his seat across from her, beside Eddie, and blinks when he sees six stares looking back at him, a range of emotions among them. 

“What’s going on?” he asks, the sweetest, most genuine concern on his face, and-

“Oh, Ben, you beautiful sunflower, I should’ve stolen you from Beverly when I had the chance,” Richie blurts without thinking, and the table is quiet for a moment before Stan begins to giggle. 

Bill and Mike look at the agent, concerned, but he is unaware as his giggles grow into full on laughs. 

Soon, everyone at the table is laughing again, because who wouldn’t laugh at Stanley I-do-accounting-classes-for-fun Uris giggling like a preteen girl with a crush?

The conversation then continues just as easily as it had before, with Richie doing Voices and poking fun at everyone and the wine flows similarly. 

Richie doesn’t like to drink anymore, so he’s sticking to his grape juice, and notices Eddie doing the same. 

After the last outburst, he decides not to comment on it. 

Everyone else, however, seems pleasantly buzzed, one Stan Uris in particular. 

Stanley, even six drinks down, is easily seeming to be the most sober, second only to Eddie, who’s actually sober. 

(Richie remembers one night at UCLA when he answered the door and had a full conversation with an officer right after doing a keg stand. They didn’t even enter the house.

Stanley Uris is a god, man.)

The only way Richie knows that Stan is even tipsy is because of how clearly he’s watching Bill. 

Stan’s an observer, it’s how he became so good at his job, but Richie’s really starting to feel uncomfortable with the way he’s looking at Bill. 

Thank god Bill and Mike have been engrossed in wedding talk with Ben and Bev. Richie can handle drunk Stan, and emotional Stan, but drunk, emotional Stan requires reinforcements.

Richie’s also noticing the soft looks Mike throws Bill when he’s not looking, especially when Bev talks about the proposal. 

He hopes Ben doesn’t feel as grossed out as he does because Richie’s ended up leering at Eddie all night, practically. 

In Richie’s defense, Eddie’s beautiful, and he can’t help it. 

He’s got a plain baby pink sweater overtop a polo, and Richie’s never met someone with clearer skin. Even Stan’s got blackheads, like what the fuck?

So yeah, Richie’s spent much of the night fantasizing about the ways he would take that sweater off, and he needs to get a grip because Bill just asked him a question. 

“What?” he asks dazedly, having to force his eyes away from Eddie’s perfect fucking face. 

Stan rolls his eyes. 

“Bill wants to know if you’ve actually read the manuscript yet, since the final copy is out. Table read is in three weeks, Rich.”

As far as Richie knows, the movie was originally written like a novel, but it had such a shit ending that everyone made Bill rewrite it. 

And, you know he hasn’t, he definitely hasn’t, because his character studies have been repeated viewings of Stand By Me and the Breakfast Club until he was bored to tears. 

(And then, actual deep sobbing tears when he watched We Were Here and had to call Bev at 4 am, but that’s neither here nor there.) 

“Yeah, of course.”

Bill breathes a sigh of relief.

“Oh, thank G-g-god, so you know.”

Richie nods, then looks at Eddie, who’s avoiding Richie’s gaze. 

“You’ll have to be more specific, Big Bill, there’s so much from the original that you didn’t keep?” he knows that much so he tries to play it off from there. 

Bill’s face sobers, and his tone grows serious. 

“W-w-wuh-well we’re thinking about changing it, b-buh-but we wanted y-yuh-your opinion.”

Richie looks at Stan, whose face has grown grave. 

“If this is about the sex scene,” he tries, not liking the return of the tenseness, “I am down for that. Give me the dick pocket underwear and we are good to go.”

No one laughs, and Bev grabs his hand under the table. 

“I-in my original script, there w-wuh-was a scene that I thought would be t-t-too much but would provide e-eh-eh-explanation,” Bill stutters through, nerves clear on his face.

Bev’s got his hand on one side, and Stan now on the other, and Richie takes a deep breath.

Maybe it won’t be what he thinks. 

Maybe it’ll be something different.

Stan’s squeezing his hand so hard that it hurts, but maybe it’s not. 

“Your character, Tommy, something h-h-huh-happened to him w-wuh-when he was a kid that p-puh-pushed him s-s-sss-suppress his feelings,” he continues, and Richie thinks in the back of his mind that he looks ashamed. 

Fear spikes through Richie, but he’s an actor, damnit, so he schools his face and squeezes Bev’s hand.

“Bill, what is it?”

Bill, Mike, and Eddie share a look before he turns to Richie. 

“Tommy gets molested as a child, Rich,” Mike says gently, looking down at his placemat, “but they want to write it out. Especially in light of all the MeToo stuff, it might hit too close to current events for some people.”

And Jesus fucking Christ, Richie feels like he’s drowning, because there are six pairs of eyes watching him, looking at him like they know, which is impossible, because the only two people in the room that know are the two people holding his hands and-

“What happens?” he asks numbly, needing the answer before he goes anywhere, does anything. 

Bill’s face grows red and Richie can see the effort it takes for him to get his words out. 

“I-I originally wrote it as a-ah-adult Tommy w-wuh-watching it h-huh-happen, like an out of body e-eh-experience, but higher ups said it was t-tuh-too traumatic.”

Richie can feel Bev’s concerned gaze on him, and knows that she vetoed it, for more reasons than him. 

“Definitely too fucking traumatic, Big Bill, what’s the Plan B?” he spits out, the nausea making his stomach turn. 

He’s going to throw up Ben’s heavenly lasagna, which is a goddamn sin.

“It wouldn’t be explicit, it’s going to be a lot of subtext and subversion, but the first sex scene is going to be undercut by a panic attack,” Eddie cuts in, concern etched across his features. 

And oh, that’s not that bad, not really far off from Richie’s reality if he’s being honest, but he’s already in the throes of panic, so there’s no stopping him now. 

“Rich, breathe,” Stan murmurs, his thumb drawing small circles on his hand and his other hand on his shoulder, and Richie would like to, but it’s dark and it feels like there’s someone on top of him and he can’t do this he needs to get out, he needs to get out, he needs to go he needs to-

Richie can’t even think, and he’s struggling to not pass out, and he can faintly hear the four others scrambling as Bev leads him to the couch and Stan’s beside him and it’s fine and then-

Everything goes black. 


	8. Tonight you got the green light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Richie didn’t immediately stir, Bev and Ben shared a look before pulling Stan out of the room, leaving Richie alone in the living room.
> 
> Bill was still sitting at the table, processing what had just occurred, and Mike was behind him, resting his hand on Bill’s shoulder.
> 
> With the other guests occupied, Eddie was unsure of what to do. After a quick glance back at Bill, he quietly padded over to the couch and sat down on the floor near Richie’s head. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there, Zuko here.   
Sorry, that's my Avatar reference for the day.   
But, um, it's been a while.   
Outside of the quarantine, my life has been a little crazy. A lot of deaths, even more family issues, and I've just generally been uninspired and unhappy with this chapter in particular. The cliffhanger I left it on is hard to resolve given pressure, and I want to get the plot moving while tying up these loose ends I've created.   
(My original version of this that I wrote in December was scrapped and I quickly rewrote this, but it kind of changes the entire direction of the plot...so bear with me as I try and string this together.)  
A couple things that are important to note in this chapter: I have no knowledge about contract law, so everything Bev tells Eddie is bullshit. I also am not putting this story into the present, so the timeline is still in 2019 simply for continuity and also because it's becoming very hard to remember what my life was like right before quarantine began. 
> 
> If you are still reading this shit show, thank you for your kudos and your comments--you have no idea how much they mean to see and read. Thank you for bearing with me, please continue to social distance/wear masks/stay inside your houses, and enjoy this chapter! ❤️

Eddie’s head pounds with a stress headache, his pulse rushing through his ears from the commotion that just happened not moments ago. 

As soon as Richie lost consciousness, chaos erupted. Ben, Bev, and Stan leapt into action, getting him settled onto the couch comfortably. 

Stan sat quietly near Richie. He gently removed Richie’s glasses and set them on the nightstand, a resigned look on his face as he watched his chest rise and fall. 

When Richie didn’t immediately stir, Bev and Ben shared a look before pulling Stan out of the room, leaving Richie alone in the living room.

Bill was still sitting at the table, processing what had just occurred, and Mike was behind him, resting his hand on Bill’s shoulder.

With the other guests occupied, Eddie was unsure of what to do. After a quick glance back at Bill, he quietly padded over to the couch and sat down on the floor near Richie’s head. 

He leaned closer to the cushions and waited. After a beat, he could hear Richie’s soft inhalation and exhalations. Eddie gave a small sigh of relief. Had he not just witnessed Richie’s panic attack, he would think that the tall, lanky man was sleeping.

Resting his legs now, he sits tall and stares at Richie’s limp hand lying next to his body. 

Eddie recalls vaguely his mom holding his hand when she would take him to his doctor’s appointments, and wonders if it would maybe comfort Richie to do the same now.

As he reaches out, Eddie is smacked with the realization of what happened to Richie. 

He swipes back his hand as if he had been burned. 

Something  _ bad  _ happened to Richie. 

Eddie’s not dumb. He knew that child actors were often more at risk for exploitation, but this? How could someone be so evil and-?

The lasagna churns in Eddie’s stomach as his mind wanders off, creating an image too horrible to describe. 

Eddie twists to look at Richie, and his heart breaks. 

They’ve known each other for less than two months, but Eddie’s ready to kill the motherfucker that decided he could take advantage of the man lying behind him. 

Eddie doesn’t want to think about what kind of person could meet Richie and do that. He’s not exactly the easiest to get along with, but Eddie knows he’s a good man. 

He thinks back to their conversation after the chemistry read. They were strangers back then, even more than now, and yet Richie still texted Eddie to see if  _ he  _ was okay after having a panic attack of his own. 

His fingers itch once again, but he stops himself. 

Eddie’s blood cools, and he calms enough to rest his head on the cushion behind him, steadying himself to the sound of Richie’s breath. 

He can’t believe that he let Bill put in that scene. He should’ve fought harder. 

_ “For fuck’s sake, William, why would you put a child actor through a scene like that?!” Eddie questioned hotly, face redder than a clown’s face paint, already needing to use his inhaler twice already.  _

_ Bill had the nerve to look affronted. “I-it’s not going to be sh-shuh-shown on-screen, Eddie, calm down.” _

_ Mike skimmed through the scene once more, before folding his hands on top of the manuscript. _

_ “It literally has notes for the child actor, baby. I’m not sure I feel comfortable with directing a scene like this.” _

_ Bill huffed and crossed his arms.  _

_ “N-nuh-narratively, it provides background into w-wuh-why Thomas doesn’t want to e-eh-engage in a physical relationship,” he defended.  _

_ Eddie rolled his eyes for what felt like the millionth time.  _

_ “Bill, none of us have ever experienced any trauma like that. The closest we’ve experienced was when Adrian Mellon was thrown off that bridge our freshman year of college, but that’s a hate crime, and it didn’t even happen to us directly. But this shit, William? It’s pure evil.” _

_ “I still think it should be left in the film. I think it’ll show how people, e-eh-specially in small towns where these power issues can happen, work through-”  _

_ Eddie began to argue once again.  _

_ “Our small town was evil, Bill, and we never got molested!” _

_ Bill, now angry, fired back.  _

_ “But what if someone did, Eddie? Wouldn’t they want to s-suh-see their ex-suh-speriences represented?” _

_ Eddie shrieked mutely, and put his hands over his face.  _

_ “They won’t connect with it, Bill, it could be a trigger for someone, or worse, it could be too graphic even for people who haven’t experienced something like that!” _

_ Mike looked worriedly between them as they began to scream at each other, red in the face. _

_ “Guys, maybe we should look at the arcade scene?” _

_ Eddie huffed, but began to flip to the section of the manuscript. _

_ Bill opened his mouth, looking to have the last word, but Eddie beat him to it.  _

_ “Just shut the fuck up, Einstein, I have a headache. This conversation isn’t over.” _

And so the drafting of that scene went, until it somehow made it past the producers and into the final script. 

Eddie knew the scene was a bad idea, a horrible concept really, but he never could’ve imagined it would trigger his co-star. 

He senses movement behind him, and turns around to see Richie’s long eyelashes flutter open, disoriented. Eddie can see the moment Richie remembers, his brown eyes darting around the room in a panic as he pushes up to a sitting position on the couch. 

“Hey Eds,” he mutters, grabbing his glasses and shoving them back onto his face.

Richie coughs. Eddie hands him the bottle Bev left lying on the table near the sofa. 

After taking a few swigs, the taller man clears his throat.

“Sorry for going all crazy there, Eds,” he grins weakly. 

His eyes dart around the room, seemingly trying to look anywhere but Eddie. 

Eddie doesn’t push like he wants to. Instead, he slides into the now vacant space next to Richie.

“Richie, it’s okay. I’m sorry Bill dropped that on you.”

He shrugs lamely.    
“It’s fine, it’s not a big deal,” he says, eyes still downcast. 

Eddie decides to be a little stupid, and grabs Richie’s larger hand with his own. 

Richie makes a choking noise and stares at their joined hands. 

Second guessing, Eddie pulls his hand away, but Richie wordlessly grips tighter. 

“Richie,” he says gently, trying once more to make eye contact, “I’m sorry that this happened. I should’ve pushed harder for him to change it in the script.”

Eddie hesitates. 

“You know….regardless of whatever made you….react like that, that scene isn’t okay. Not in 2019.”

Richie snorts. 

“ _ Midsommar  _ and  _ Us _ came out earlier this year, Eds, that scene would be the least of Standards and Practices’ worries,” he jokes, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“That’s not my name,” he grumbles, taking the bait and letting the topic go for now. 

Instead of pushing the other man to talk about it, Eddie listens to Richie joke about the different boundaries he’s pushed in his career. 

“I swear to God, I don’t think Lorne Michaels has ever wanted to murder someone as much as me. I’m lucky I’m not higher up on that list. Once Chevy Chase dies, I’m fucking next!” he exclaims, still holding Eddie’s hand and using it to accent his story. 

He hopes that the fondness is not obvious on his face.

As if they heard Richie regaling his one time stint on SNL, Stan and Bev enter back into the living room. 

Bev flits over to Richie and kisses his forehead. 

“You good, Rich?”

The actor hums and smiles up at the redhead. 

“Yeah, I was just regaling Eddie Spaghetti my career highlights!”

Stan rolls his eyes, but a soft grin is on his face. 

“Rich, no one gives a shit that you were on SNL and said ‘fuck’ on camera,” he grouses, “Kristen Stewart did the same thing.”

Richie makes a noise indignation.

“Et tu, Stanley Urine?”

Stan wrinkles his nose. 

“At least KStew was a national icon,” Richie exclaims dramatically, still holding Eddie’s hand, “I was just a former Disney child star, but uninteresting, like Ricky Ullman.”

“Who?” Bev asks, and Richie takes her response as a confirmation. 

“Exactly! I am the fourth Jonas brother of the Disney Channel family, and I am okay with that!” 

“Beep beep, Richie,” Eddie mutters, and the other two look at each other in delight as Richie groans. 

“And my lover too?” he gasps, “You’re as cold as ice! Willing to sacrifice my love!”

Eddie flushes pink, and detaches his hand as Richie continues his off-key singing, to Stan’s frustration.

Bev gives him a look, but he darts his eyes away, over to where Ben has joined Bill and Mike in the dining room. 

The three are whispering in the kitchen. Bill looks like a wounded puppy, nodding along to whatever Ben was telling him. 

Bev, who has since moved to sit next to Eddie, nudges his shoulder. 

“I think you guys are heading back soon.”

Eddie’s eyebrow raises.

“Stan could pull Richie out of the movie if Bill doesn’t take the scene out.”

Eddie sucks in a breath.

“And, Ben and the producers could get sued by Richie’s agency for breach of contract, because this violates Stan’s clause about advanced disclosure for traumatic scenes,” Bev elaborates in his ear, and Eddie’s stomach drops. 

“They won’t though, right?” he murmurs back in the same hushed tone, “this is just to force Bill’s hand?”

Bev shrugs. 

“If Bill knows what’s good for him, he’ll cut the scene altogether. Apparently, multiple people-” she pauses to give Eddie a knowing look, “have protested against the scene enough to make a big case of it, if that’s needed.”

When Eddie doesn’t respond, she continues. 

“Look, Eddie, I love him as much as you do, but he’s so bullheaded sometimes that he can’t see past his own ideas. It’s why his endings suck. Stan won’t let Bill put his vision before Richie’s well-being.”

He nods in agreement.

“It’s a shitty scene.”

Bev exhales and grabs the remote beside her. 

“Rich, you get to pick one non-Disney movie, and then Stan and I pick the rest of the night.”

Richie pouts, his brown eyes looking nearly cartoonish behind his thick frames. 

“Bev, I could’ve died today, and you’re going to subject me to _ Moana _ ? And  _ Coco _ ?! Can’t we please just watch all the  _ Ice Age _ movies?” he whines. 

Bev laughs, but tells him no. Richie pouts beside him, but soon animated ice fills the screen in front of the four. 

Richie and Bev settle on the couch, grabbing blankets from behind the cushions. Eddie wonders absentmindedly if it’s overstepping to ask to stay, leaning into the warmth from Richie’s side. 

As soon as that thought crossed his mind, Mike popped his head into the living room.

“Eddie, you ready to go?” he asks, mimicking a parent picking up their child from daycare. 

“Bill has work to do.” 

The implication is left hanging in the air, and Richie briefly tenses beside Eddie. 

The small singer nods, and he turns to Richie as he stands. 

“Text me if you’re bored later, during the Disney movies,” he teases, and Richie smiles back.

“Oh just you wait, Spaghetti, you’re in for the spam of your life.”

Bev stands with him, and they walk out to the foyer of the house to meet Ben and Bill. 

Bev’s eyes narrow, and she crosses her arms.

“The only reason I’m not screaming right now is because Richie can hear me, William,” she bites. 

Bill nods, looking down, and if Eddie wasn’t so mad, he would feel bad for him. 

The five of them make their goodbyes, and Eddie notices Bev kiss Mike on the cheek.

“Take care of him tonight,” she murmurs to him, and he gives her a sad smile. 

“You too, Bev. I’m sorry this happened.”

She shrugs, and wraps her arms around her torso.

“We knew who we fell in love with, Mike,” she responds simply, and then they are outside, walking to the car. 

What a fucking night. 

_____

Eddie hopes this time, finally, someone has gotten through to Bill. 

He did not scream or yell at the screenwriter, but instead talked quietly to Mike on the drive home, ignoring Bill completely. 

Once inside the house, Eddie decided to call it a night. He swallowed five Tylenol and turned to go up the stairs, ignoring the hurt looks from Bill. After a long hot shower, Eddie found himself sitting on the edge of his bed, unable to fall asleep, still wired from the events of the night. 

Eddie fights the urge to grab his inhaler several times. Instead, he turns on reruns  _ Mash _ for the hundredth time, hoping that the cadence of Hawkeye will lull him to sleep. As he tries to make his breathing even, a notification pings from his phone. Bleary eyed, Eddie opens the message to see it’s from Richie. 

From: Richie Tozier

fuckdisneybringback2d.jpg

_ Stan and Bev said they r gonna smother me if i keep talking through this movie but i’m bored as hell fuck disney bring back the cool animation _

It’s a picture of Bev's living room. The only part of Richie that can be seen is his big forehead, taking up a large corner of the picture. The rest of the scene is filled by Bev, who is avidly focused on the screen in front of her, and Stanley, who Richie captured trying to inconspicuously wipe away tears. Ben is nowhere to be seen, but it still makes him laugh. 

To: Richie Tozier

_ I agree, but you could nap through the movies?  _

A text instantly shoots back.

From: Richie Tozier

_ And miss staniel bawling his eyes out when moana returns the heart of te fiti?????? not a chance _

_ but if i do fall asleep, bevvie will get it on camera :D _

Eddie grins unabashadly at his phone. 

To: Richie Tozier

_ Nap, Richie. You’ll have plenty of time to see Stan cry about Disney.  _

From: Richie Tozier

_ yes jeez mom whatever sweet dreams spaghetti ;) _

Eddie rolls his eyes, a smile still etched on his face. 

To: Richie Tozier

_ That’s not my name.  _

_ Night, Richie. Sweet dreams to you too.  _


End file.
